


Put To The Test

by Ayngelcat



Category: Transformers Generation One
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-28
Updated: 2012-05-28
Packaged: 2017-11-06 04:13:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/414574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ayngelcat/pseuds/Ayngelcat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Given the previous problems with his team, how can Onslaught tell things are now headed in the right direction? Set in Season 3.</p><p>Written for Ultharkitty's birthday, in response to an ancient request for a scenario where Vortex and Swindle reconcile. Thank you to naboru_narluin for beta :-)</p><p>*Warnings* for initial apparent character death, emotional trauma and fluff.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Put To The Test

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ultharkitty](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ultharkitty/gifts).



The bomb, a masterpiece of Cybertronian engineering, went off exactly as planned.

Space station J.17 was there; and then it was gone; a five million year creation of steel , filled with the culture and technology of alien ages, bustling with life, shimmered like a fragmented parody of itself; then exploded into billions of brightly shining particles which rushed outwards, dissolving rapidly into the dust of space.  

Swindle, observing the spectacle on the holonews, rushed with widened optics into the common room of the new Combaticon headquarters.

“Did you see that?” he cried.

Onslaught did not look up from the small metal object he was tinkering with.

“Of course!” he said. “I helped design it. A triumph! Do you know – it was all contained in a box no larger than this one?”

Nearby, Blast Off sat silently, unspeaking. It never failed to amaze Swindle how the shuttle could ‘just sit’ like that so often and for so long with apparently so little need to do anything else. He had often pondered the phenomenon. Right now, however, it was the least thing on his mind.




“But - Vortex and Brawl were on that station!” he wailed.

Onslaught looked up. He shrugged. “Maybe!”

Swindle could not believe it. He simply _could not believe it._ Onslaught amazed him frequently with his coldness, his apparent imperviousness, his lack of reaction to anything of any kind – not to mention his brutality which superseded even that of most Decepticons. But this …?

“MAYBE?” he burst out. “I _know_ they were there!” he began to babble. “I set it up. They went there on public shuttle. Vortex had to meet the Ziggorians. Brawl was gonna be backup. They were gonna …”

And then, Swindle stopped. “Onslaught, of course, hadn’t known about him getting the other two to do this; do it, of course, on the premise that the Combaticon leader was behind the request.

Onslaught was looking at him “Yes?” he said. “You have something to tell me Swindle.”

Swindle felt the energon in his conduits go cold, at the same time as a gnawing void invaded the space where the bond should be like an dulling, anaesthetic gas. “It’s my fault!” he gasped. “I sent them there! I could feel them. And now I …”

Swindle sank to the floor. “I can’t feel them any more!”

There were mutterings, incoherent words exchanged between Onslaught and Blast Off. “Life happens, death happens.” It was Blast Off talking. “Gestalt components can be replaced.”

“Indeed, Swindle!” The smallest Combaticon looked up to see Onslaught looking down, his hands on his hips. “I’m surprised you are this concerned. I thought you were of the opinion that your team mates were  - _expendable.”_

“That was along time ago! Things are – different – now!” Swindle gasped as a ringing began in his audials and a grey cloud settled over the room. “And anyway – _what about you?”_ he managed, as the figures in front of him seemed to recede, becoming distant.

 “Us?” Onslaught’s voice was faint. “Oh, we’ll pull through. Sparks become one with the cosmos all the time.” The shadowy figure turned away. “I suggest you find ways of dealing with it also, Swindle. It didn’t seem to be a problem before.”

…………………..

Swindle sat on the berth in Vortex’s room. _Well what now?_ He thought. Does this mean I am free to go now? Yet the prospect held no joy. His pump throbbed away, the energon flowing through his conduits, as impulses leaped down his circuits. But the workings were futile, a purposeless waste in a meaningless universe.

 _What am I without them?_ he thought. _In spite of everything,_ _They have become my life, my reason to be here. What now?_

There was no point, Swindle surmised. He should end it here.

And that was a shame, because things had been getting better.

Yes, they had! Vortex knew now, of course; had known for a while that it wasn’t he, Swindle, who had turned them in. The copter had thought that; they had all thought it. And Swindle had hated them for it, and he had gone and done what he did on Earth, and they had hated him more.

But since they _knew_ \- things had been getting better. And Vortex had agreed to the Ziggorian deal, a major step forward. Even if he had mainly done it for himself.

Yes, progress had been made! Even if Vortex would never really forgive him, and shut him out at every opportunity and was still angry about the _box_ \- even though he now knew the truth about their betrayer. Even if he was an aft, and made Swindle so livid he couldn’t even stay in the same room, practically all of the time.

But how could Swindle feel like that now? He thought of Vortex standing there, all handsome quivering rotors; and then – _the bang._ And then ….

Swindle shut his optics tight, wincing, unable to even contemplate that image. Even if it was – as it must have been – so quick that neither Vortex nor Brawl would even have had time to think what might be happening. But even that fact was obscene; so much, in fact, not how Vortex would have wanted to go.

No, he could not think of it. His thoughts turned, instead, to Onslaught. His spark flared, a sudden surge of energon making his vents sputter and sigh. This was his doing! He had known this would happen! He had let them be there knowing what would happen, and he had sent them to their deaths; and now, they had gone to those deaths.  Swindle would never have the chance to mend it properly; to cement the binds as they should be in a functional gestalt.

Swindle thought of them again, and tears began to course fiercely down his cheeks. _It was all because of Onslaught!_ He’d seen to it that it was Swindle’s fault; that he would have to live forever with having sent them there. When he had known – oh yes , he’d known – he’d set it up. _And he hadn’t even cared!_

Except that Vortex and Brawl _had_ been meant to be going elsewhere. And it was he, Swindle, who had changed that. _He_ was to blame …”

Anger gave way to pain so intense that Swindle doubled over, a blackness, filling his visual field, the blotting out of a reality too awful to come to terms with. “I just want you to come back, come back, come back!” he whimpered, before it overwhelmed him.

………….

When Swindle came to, the room seemed silent, stifling. A void itself in the vastness of the universe. Swindle’s optics drifted to the shelves, and he noticed a picture; five faces staring from inside a bronze frame. It was them. Him and the others, before the war, before they were ever an out fit   called ‘The Combaticons.’




Swindle got up and fetched it. He ran his finger over the faces. It had been better in those days, better before the gestalt and the prison, the anger and the fear, the suspicions and blaming, and all that had happened when they got out.

The photo cheered him, a raft of hope in a sea of despair. Surely there had been a mistake. Yes – there must have been. The reports hadn’t said there were survivors. But they hadn’t said there weren’t any, either. Maybe Vortex and Brawl were fine, on their way here right now. Yes! And Swindle should be all ready for their return.

Swindle smiled at that thought. Brawl would be all attentive, and this time Swindle wouldn’t push the tank away. He’d be nice, responsive, maybe even recharge with him. And Vortex? Well Vortex would be brusque and pissed off, his usual anti-Swindle self. But maybe this time they could talk, sort something, without Swindle losing his temper and yelling, the copter storming out in the usual acrimonious scenario.

If he could just have the chance to maybe just do that ….

Swindle looked around the room. There was not much in here. Rotors were stacked on a shelf in the corner, alongside gun parts, bullets, other paraphernalia. On a small table near the only chair, a collection of cubes was clustered. Vortex had not been here, much. He tended to ‘go out’ a lot. _To avoid me,_ Swindle thought. _Because of how I am._ Well, he would change that. As soon as they got back.

But I saw the footage ….

Swindle’s spark ached, the gap in the bond again opening, a yawning cavern.

_In gestalts, members die and sometimes the senses in the ones left act like they’re still there …._

Who had told him that? Scavenger, Swindle thought. He'd spoken of some other Constructicon who’d died, long ago, that nobody knew of. Something like that.

Swindle clutched at his chest as his loss gripped him again. “Please bring them _back!”_ he wailed at he knew not who. Then he knew to whom he should direct this request.

“Please _Primus,_ bring them back. I’ll make things good. I promise _. Please._ I can’t be in a universe not with them!”

………………….

The door opened, and Swindle looked up to see Onslaught standing in the frame. Swindle looked away. “Go away!” he hissed.

But Onslaught didn’t. “You had better pull yourself together,” he snapped. “I have a job for you, Swindle! I want you to go to the Spaceport.”

Fury and hatred raged within the smallest Combaticon. How could Onslaught make such a request at a time like this? “Do it yourself!” he growled. “Now leave me alone!”

There was a pause whilst Onslaught lingered. _If he does not go,_ Swindle thought, _I swear I will kill him. Or I will die trying, but since I do not want to be here anyway, I don’t care._

Onslaught cleared his throat. “I would like you to go to the spaceport,” he said, “because Brawl and Vortex are coming in on the next shuttle. I want you to meet them and bring them back here.”

For the second time that cycle, the energon froze in Swindle’s circuits. Slowly, he raised his head. “WHAT?” he said.

Onslaught darkened. “You heard!” he growled.

The relief was a torrent rushing through Swindle, leaving him weak, yet elated. _They are alive!_

But then, he was angry. And on his feet. “WHY?” he yelled at Onslaught. “Why did you do it? How dare you put me through …. through …. through _that!”_

The smallest Combaticon raged, fiddling with his canon, determined he was going to fire it, was going to punish Onslaught for all the agony of the pervious cycle.

But he found himself pushed back, and firmly but surely pinned to the wall. “Because I wanted to scare you!” Onslaught said, and Swindle felt the glow of the orange visor. “Because I had given them orders to go through the warp gate to Malastare, and you HAD to try and usurp that with your own selfish pursuits! I had to show you that there is only one leader of the Combaticons and only one set of orders, and I will NOT have you running an agenda on the side!”

Swindle could not believe it, once again. “You’re crazy!” he yelled. “For your own ego, you nearly got them killed.”

“No! You did!” Onslaught roared. “I saved their lives!”

But Swindle was too angry, too confused to take in anything. He struggled. “I’ll kill you!” he yelled.

Swindle felt a hand close around his throat. He struggled harder, but grew weak, as the energon flow, blocked in his neck conduits failed to energise his processor. He felt the pressure on his throat relax. Slumping, he slid down the wall to the floor.

Onslaught’s face was again in front of him. But it looked – different.

“I didn’t want to do it,” he was saying. “But I had to know.”

………………..

“I knew of your little scheme,” Onslaught said. “I also knew J.17 would explode, something you could not know, and something to which I was sworn to secrecy. Of course I didn’t want them on it! So I gave them orders to go through the gate to Malastare. I could only hope that because, whatever else, those two respect my authority  that they would obey. They did. It was a chance I took, a test. They passed.”

The Combaticon leader sighed, deeply. “As for you, Swindle – this quadrant is a dangerous place. You needed to know what could happen if you run with your own ideas.”

Swindle supposed he saw. There could have been better ways,  he thought. Surely! But he was still weak with the shock of relief, and said nothing.

“I also did it to test the strength of your bonding,” Onslaught went on. “And theirs to you. I could not tell them about the bomb …” he hesitated, “I did tell them – that I was sending you there to do your own dirty work. They think _you_ died in the explosion.”

“And I have been monitoring the bond,” Onslaught went on, and keeping the components isolated, as only I can do. To see the reactions. Would they be relieved to see the back of you? Would they be pleased, thinking you got what was coming to you, blamed you for bringing it on yourself? And you? Would you be sad at their demise, or would you see it as a chance for freedom, the long awaited break you had been seeking since on Earth?”

The closest look to an emotional one Swindle has ever seen came on to Onslaught’s faceplates. “All of you have shown – some distress,” he said. “I am – satisfied - that you are now sufficiently attached so as to mean that the problems which occurred before will not do so again.”

Leaning back against the wall, Swindle shuttered his optics. Onslaught’s methods, novel, they were. Ingenious, some might even describe them as. But Swindle didn’t think he would ever get used to them.

“They were upset at me dying?” he asked. “Even Vortex – was upset at the thought of me dying?”

Swindle felt a hand on his arm. “Yes,” Onslaught said wearily. “ _Particularly_ Vortex.”

The Combaticon leader sighed, heavily. “He – _struggles_ when it comes to you, Swindle, as do you with him. You are complicated mechs. You both baffle and frustrate me, as does this gestalt, frequently.” He smiled grimly. “But you should talk to Vortex. Try and iron out the ‘crinkles.’ We are really quite close to it functioning a great deal better.”

 _Crinkles._ Swindle liked that word. He decided to remember it.

……………

The throng waited anxiously in the ‘extrasector arrivals’ section of the spaceport. Heads bobbed up above the crowd, eagerly attempting to catch glimpses of loved ones as they sauntered down the ramp.

Among them, Swindle waited, trying to look not to look conspicuous among the many varieties of alien life form which agitated beside him, trying to ignore the crush of alien bodies, the feel of organic life against his plates interspersed with the scrape of foreign metals.

The Combaticon fidgeted impatiently. This ‘scenario’ was another ‘Onslaught orchestration.’ Blast Off could just have easily have simply gone through the gate himself and got them from Malastare. No doubt this was to teach them all some ‘humility’ or suchlike. It irritated Swindle. But he was still too numb with relief to care.

Instead, he simply shoved his way to the rail, ignoring yelps and cries of indignation when he squished organic toes or collided with some softer hide. They drew back anyway, as soon as they saw the canon on his arm. Which made Swindle feel ‘important,’ and a great deal better.

The main mass of passengers was coming down the ramp, now. Swindle felt a twinge of anxiety. What if something else had _happened_ to Vortex and Brawl. _Don’t be ridiculous,_ he told himself. What can happen on an intra-sector commercial flight?

 _With them, plenty!_ The energon thrummed warmly in Swindle’s conduits as he thought this affectionately, his spark glowing, as the relief of their survival again filled his processor. But their ‘survival’ also could mean trouble.

Time ticked on. Where were they? Surely this was not another ’test’? Swindle groaned at the thought.

And then, Swindle saw them – the tips of rotors bobbing against the crowd and the unmistakeable tip of a canon. “Yess!!!” Ducking under the barrier, Swindle pushed his way through the crowd, hurrying towards the welcome sight.

…………

The two femmes walking either side of Vortex, graceful twinned specimens from the exiled Alpha caste colony on Malastare, tittered when they saw the bright yellow mech with the purple trimmings and even more purple optics approaching. Simultaneously, they drew back.

“That must be the businessmech!” one of them whispered. “He’s cute!” agreed the other. “And he looks pretty alive to me!” And they tittered again.

Vortex simply stopped, and folded his arms. A frown appeared on his face. So here was Swindle, alive after all. As if Vortex hadn’t known that all along! Swindle was bound to be alive; cos he was – well, _Swindle._ His devious mind could twist anything to orchestrate his survival. It was what was so frickin' annoying. The aft always came up smelling of incense tailings no matter what Quintesson forsaken pit he'd fallen into.

It woundn't have mattered that he died. No - would have done the universe a favour, even! That blackness Vortex had felt, that loss, that pit of despair when they’d thought, for a brief time, that he’d gone. Naaa – it was to do with the gestalt. And that was all.  The relief, the sense of wholeness he felt now, that was just - well, Vortex didn’t know what the hell it was! But the sooner they got out of here and he could go somewhere and obliterate it with high grade, the better.

Hell, the pitspawned aft nearly got them killed on that station! As if he hadn't done enough already.

 _And he was right here now!_ Alongside him, Brawl’s face broke into an undisguised picture of delight. “Swin!” he yelled, charging forward.

……………….

“I knew it wasn’t true, I knew it, I knew it, _I knew it!”_

Swindle allowed himself to be thoroughly hugged and glomped by Brawl. But all his attention was on Vortex, who had drifted to one side. He had his arms folded and his face had ‘that look.’ Swindle knew it well.

Swindle's spark burned with disappointment. Then, he fumed. Onslaught was wrong! Complicated? The only ‘complication’ was that ‘attitude,’ that  resentment that had been there since the awakening on Earth. This 'test had changed nothing.

But Brawl still held him tightly; and Swindle let himself relax into the embrace, thinking of the photo he’d found in Vortex’  room, that had reminded him of how things had once been , how much he’d wanted them to be like that again. He felt a new strength. It _would_ be different this time.

He thought of Onslaught’s words. _Particularly Vortex …._

Swindle stayed close to Brawl. “I didn’t know about the bomb,” he whispered.

“Well yeah!” I figured you wouldn’t wanna get us killed!” Brawl said. And Swindle hugged him again, so opposite from Vortex and so neglected, so taken for granted as such. But he never, ever would be again.

Breaking from Brawl, Swindle kissed him on the cheek. As he did so he felt the bond open and allowed his feelings for Brawl to flow through it, feeling the delight in the other echo back. “I have to talk to Tex,” he said. “He looks pissed.”

“What?” said Brawl. “Oh yeah! He is. But Swin ….” he leaned close to Swindle’s audial. “It wasn’t nothing to him. Your – ending!”

Swindle nodded. He wasn't convinced. But Brawl's optimism was, as usual, infectious.

The femmes appeared, then, surrounding Brawl. Glancing over, Swindle saw that Vortex had turned away. He took a deep intake, and crossed to him.

……………….

“Vortex?”

The copter gave him a ‘look.’ Yet the usual malice was absent. Instead there was – what? Discomfort? Disappointment? A cynical hope even, of things being different? Swindle could not read it. But when he spoke, Vortex was his usual self. “OK!” He half sneered. “We’re alive, you’re alive, we’re all fraggin alive! But let’s just get the joyous hoo haa out the way shall we, and get on back to base.”

He went to move forward. But Swindle blocked his path. He moved again, but Swindle threw his arms around the copter’s neck, clanking against him, hugging with every bit as much enthusiasm as Brawl had just shown him.

As might have been expected, Vortex resisted. “What the – Swin! Gerroff! This is a public place!”

Vortex tried to push him away. But Swindle hung on, leaning close to Vortex’ audial. “I’m glad you’re alive,” he said. “I’m sorry for what happened on Earth, and the stuff I said here, and I didn’t know about the bomb, and I know you don’t like me and you’re still mad. But you’re important and the team’s important and – well that’s about it. I just want – to iron out the crinkles.”

“All right, so I know, I KNOW!” But then, he was not resisting. And for just for a moment, Swindle felt an arm go around him and a faint hug, a fraction of the strength Brawl’s but perhaps worth several times as much. Then it relaxed. “Crinkles? What the frag is a crinkle?” Vortex said.  

And then, amazingly, Swindle felt the bond open; and he poured his feelings down it and hugged Vortex again; and whilst what came back was a far cry from his input, there nevertheless was a change: surprise , pleasure even. And the feeling that, perhaps, it was not that Vortex did not want to be nicer, but more that he simply did not know what to say.

So Swindle prevented him from having to say anything, by kissing him very firmly and passionately on the lips, still holding on, making sure it lasted for more than a few clicks. And at least Vortex responded. _Kind of._ Even if it wasn’t like Brawl would have done.

……………

“Er – guys?” it was Brawl. “This is a public place!”

Breaking from the kiss, Swindle looked around, observing that a moderate sized crowd had gathered. Reluctantly, he extricated himself and drew back. As he did so, a cheer went up and a round of clapping broke out.

Swindle looked at Brawl and Vortex. And, amazingly, it was Brawl who looked worried, whereas a  crooked smirk had appeared on the face of the copter.

“Pit!” said Brawl. “We’re Combaticons. What the hell’s Ons gonna say?”

Swindle looked at Brawl and nodded. The tank transformed, and there was a loud KABOOM! As a single shot roared over the heads of the crowd. There was a stunned silence, then all at once screams and the thundering of feet as mayhem broke out and the dismayed and terrified aliens charged for the exit.

Vortex looked much happier. “Pity we can’t stay and have fun, but we’d better go!” he said. “Here – Swin - c’mon!”

As police sirens sounded in the distance, briefly they exchanged a smile. And then Swindle took his place between his team mates as they left the port, ignoring for a short, precious time the hasty retreat they would shortly have to make; walking determinedly, and slightly ahead of Brawl and Vortex, although not so much as to really give any impression of leadership, or anything else which might displease Onslaught.

Swindle was, after all, just an ordinary Combaticon. But he was darned proud of it.


End file.
